The Lighthouse
There is a lighthouse,
Standing serenely on a promontory.
Keeping watch over ever changing seas.

There is a lighthouse,
A lighthouse which directs ships,
As they return from magical expeditions to uncharted waters.

Its radiant beacon silently surveys the surf.
Gracefully guiding,
Gracefully guiding the sea’s travelers,
As they come and go.

It tells tales
Tales of raging storms in the darkest, blackest of nights;
While the moon and stars waltz across the abyss.
And of scarlet sunsets foretelling fair winds,
Of crimson dawns preceding roaring seas.

It tells tales,
Tales of winter mornings with the early sun.
The early sun which silhouettes it on azure skies.
As the ocean tides play a melody on the shore beyond it.

Still it stands,
As the seasons change like the turbulent tides;
Valiantly arising amid the sea’s icy spray.
Silence and solace many find there.


Still it stands,
As the world falls feebly around it.
Guarding and guiding the passengers of its waters,
Until all are safely ashore.
The Lighthouse.